I have too many hobbies

Lately, with Jack, you aren't sure where to step, unsure if the floor beneath will give way to a tense conversation that is an argument in disguise.

He's still reassuring, the affection never lessens between you two, and maybe Jack didn't change at all — but you did. Your mind burrows deeper within, searching for a shadow of doubt in his quick and easy promises, weaving a conclusion for the backstory of an excuse that you can't swallow without chewing on it.

The water churning below the below that metaphorical precipice is dotted with rocks now but you can't find it in you to turn away.

"It's fine," Jack says but both of you hear the lie before he can even continue talking. "Go to the dinner with Trinity, sweetheart, I have some lyrics to look over."

His voice never falters, his gaze doesn't harden — everything in his response aligns with a man that isn't bothered, nothing like how Baz would twist the conversation to his advantage and leave you feeling like shit — and yet you tense where you're tucked against him in bed.

Your eyes never leave his even as he scrolls through his phone, his glasses sitting primly upon the slope of his nose. Emails and the like, nothing incriminating. "But Jack— are you sure?"

When he looks at you then, you feel that fear of being too much rise, like a tide tugging at your ankles, ready to sweep you under. "Sweetheart." That petname rolls roughly off his tongue, the affection that clings to each syllable tasting bittersweet. "It's fine. It's good that you're hanging out with people your own age."

Now that's bait, you think. The age thing seems to be bothering Jack more; you had initially thought the uneasiness festering between you might've been him holding resentment for the kiss you shared with Robby. But he seems far more upset every time TMZ or Entertainment Tonight! rave about your newest superstar clique: Trinity, Dennis, Mateo, and occasionally Dove.

You refuse to take the bite. Jack's a grown man — he should know how to communicate better.

You swallow down your rebuttal and decide to go along with this nonchalant front he's putting on. "Okay," you shrug. "If you insist."

The book Robby had recommended you sits on your side of the bed and you detangle from Jack to roll over, grabbing the loved novel and picking up from where you left off. You tangle your legs with Jack beneath the covers out of habit as you lean against the headboard, absentmindedly stroking the dog-eared pages.

Jack watches you read, sees the way you turn the book just enough to read Robby's annotations scrawled in the margins.

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NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY, ORRINGTON HOUSE, SECOND FLOOR, JACK AND ROBBY'S SUITE.

Jack stretches out on the lumpy couch he and Robby nabbed at a sale (the side of the road right after an Alpha Tau party right before fall semester) in hopes to smooth out the kink in his lower spine, an unfortunate result of studying all night at the library. His legs dangle off the edge of the arm rest on the opposite end, his eyes glazing across the sitcom blaring off the television with mild interest. He's about to light up a blunt — a wonderful possibility now that he and Robby finally moved out of the freshman dorms and into the houses near campus — when his roommate's door opens and shut.

"… the big deal? Why can't I just borrow your copy?"

He glances away from the screen to see Robby escort a pretty girl to the door; Jack might've given up on remembering the girls' names with how often he brings home a new face every few days or so.

"I can just buy you your own copy," Robby insists with a charming smile, sweet and puppyish even with his newly grown beard. Jack fights back his own grin when the girl visibly melts, hovering by the doorway as his roommate lifts an arm to lean against the door.

"… okay," the girl swoons, tilting her head up for a kiss that Robby happily indulges in… while gently nudging her out the door. "I'll call you."

"Sure, sweetheart," Robby smiles. Once the door's shut, he lets out a low exhale of relief and trudges over to the tiny couch. Jack lifts his legs just in time for Robby to settle, bringing his legs back onto his lap.

An amused chuckle escapes Jack, throws a twizzler at his friend's head to gain his attention. "What was that about?"

"She wanted to borrow my copy of White Nights," he mutters, catches the twizzler to nibble at the ends.

"What's wrong with that? Is it some kinda first edition?"

Robby shakes his head, hands the half-eaten twizzer to Jack who finishes it off without thinking. "No, I have annotations in there. It's as personal and private as it can get, man. I'd rather not have a girl whose name I can barely remember reading that."

Jack frowns. thinks of his East of Eden copy he's yet to give back to Robby sitting on his nightstand.

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"That's it, sweetheart, take it—"

Jack grunts, his palm hugging the length of your neck as your head is positioned carefully off the edge of the bed while he fucks your throat. Tears well up, eyes rolling back while your lover's balls hit your forehead, heavy and warm against your skin. It should be uncomfortable, the way his cock seems to drive even deeper while Robby finds a rhythm of his own tip slamming against your cervix.

They've gone longer than you've expected but perhaps having two older men is enough to sate your own libido as they take turns, passing you between each other. But it's the first of the evening where you're taking them both, Jack feeding his cock in your waiting throat while you've got your legs tossed up on Robby's broad shoulders as he fucks you slow and deep.

A shiver zips down your spine each time Jack would gingerly stroke your jaw and Robby would kiss the anklet that both men had chosen for you.

"Mmf…!" You whimper as the blood rushing to your head becomes too much but Jack's pulling out just as you tap his thigh, painting your collarbone and tits with his release just in time for Robby to do the same. He finishes between your thighs instead, making a mess upon your lower abdomen and the ruined lacy thong he didn't even bother removing when he began an hour ago.

You bask in it, the depravity of being used as a canvas for their pleasure, but then Robby's sneaking his index and middle finger in you. Your thighs quiver, hips jumping at the sudden intrusion as your overstimulated clit throbs.

"Come on, princess," Robby coos as he hovers over you, his beard scratching along your cheek. "You can give us one more."

A refusal sits on your tongue but then you feel another finger join. Your lashes flutter open and you gasp, seeing Jack settle on the bed beside Robby, a half-smirk on his lips as you see his wrist move in tandem with his best friend's. "Oh fuck—"

"Think she got wetter, man," Robby chuckles darkly and Jack glances over to him.

"I think so," Jack replies and this elicits a needy keen out of you; by now, they've fucked you stupid, words failing you as you chase yet another climax while they finger you relentlessly, treating you like a toy they aren't tired of yet.

Despite wringing three orgasms out of you already, the two men manage to bring you to the precipice once more, tears sliding down your blotchy cheeks. A broken whine spills from your kiss-swollen lips when they remove their fingers, feeling hopelessly empty. Jack helps you up, settles you in between them before Robby leaves to get a clean washcloth.

You no longer whine for him; it's a practiced routine now, both men moving around you to get you comfortable while making sure one is maintaining contact with you as you slowly come down from the haziness of your afterglow. You feel more settled into your bones when they've cleaned you gently, sharing chaste kisses until you're tucked between them.

"Who do you want to be the big spoon, sweetheart?" Jack asks quietly.

"Mm… Robby," you murmur and both men share a little look before shaking their heads fondly. You've been swapping between them both, having picked Jack last time and then Robby the night before. They lift the covers for you, waiting patiently as your turn to your side so you can tuck yourself into Robby's embrace while facing Jack with a soft and sleepy smile.

Darkness descends into the room now, nothing heard but your soft breathing as you fall asleep in the safety of both their arms.

But when morning comes, brought in by bird song and soft kisses from Jack and his stubborn internal clock, you know better than to seek out Robby and yet disappointment sinks like a stone in your gut when your arm reaches out to his side of the bed and only feel cold sheets.

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

Entertainment Tonight! — DAILY STAR SIGHTINGS.

LOOKS LIKE STAR'S GATHERING MORE TO JOIN HER ORBIT AS HER CLIQUE MEET UP AT CHATEAU MARMONT FOR A PRIVATE DINNER. SOURCES SPOTTED STAR WITH TRINITY, DENNIS, AND MATEO SHARING APPETIZERS. WHILE IT'S NO SURPRISE THAT TRINITY IS PRESENT (IT'S NO EXAGGERATION WHEN WE DUB THEM OUR FAVORITE CONJOINED TWINS), DENNIS THE COUNTRY STAR AND MATEO, OUR UPCOMING FAVORITE HEARTTHROB, ARE DEFINITELY NEW FACES. MANY SPECULATE THAT DENNIS HAD BEEN PULLED INTO THE CLIQUE DURING COACHELLA WHILE MATEO AND STAR HAVE CLEARLY HIT IT OFF AFTER PLAYING ROMEO AND JULIET IN HER MUSIC VIDEO.

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TMZ — REWRITING TRAGIC LOVE STORIES?

STAR AND MATEO ARE HOT HOT HOT IN HER NEWEST MUSIC VIDEO, FANS ARE RAVING ABOUT THEIR CHEMISTRY AS ROMEO AND JULIET. WHILE MANY ARE BEGGING FOR STAR TO BREAK INTO HOLLYWOOD, A GROWING PORTION OF FANS ARE BEGINNING TO SPECULATE IF THERE MAY BE SOMETHING MORE BETWEEN THE TWO.

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drop dead enthusiast! @.dropdeadd — 39m who tf is writing all these articles and are they living under a rock? star's obviously dating jack abbot lmao god forbid a girl has guy friends??

star's luvbot 3000 @.starsluvbot — 42m we! don't! care! who! she's! dating!

troll @.ragebaiter — 51m What a slut, is one man not enough for her? Used to listen to Nightcrawler back in my day, I can't believe their standards would drop this low.

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"I think I'm gonna have to stop asking you what you've been up to and just check TMZ," Mateo snorts as the two of you sit in a new coffee spot that had just opened in Culver City. Despite the drive down the 405 being literal hell, the two of you figured it'd be easier to catch up like this than be caught visiting each other's houses.

You roll your eyes behind your sunglasses, face bare of makeup while having dressed down considerably to avoid any kind of recognition. You hide your snort behind the rim of your coffee cup while Mateo does the same. His curls are tied back in a low ponytail, his own sunglasses sitting low on his nose. "You're confident in the tabloids' accuracy? Last article about me claimed I was secretly engaged to Parker Ellis."

"Who's engaged?"

You glance up and smile, instinctively opening your arms to greet Penny in a warm hug — the real reason why you had happily taken the drive to Culver: Mateo's girlfriend. Unlike the rest of your friend group, Penny isn't a celebrity and highly values her privacy, something you and Mateo can never promise. But without leaving LA county, Culver City has become no man's land whenever you'd happily third wheel with Mateo and his partner.

It's a nice reprieve from your odd lovelife and the chaos that follows whenever you third wheel Trinity and Dove. The other people you know of that are in normal relationships are a plane ride away.

"No one's engaged," you answer, watching fondly as she sits beside Mateo across the table.

"Not according to TMZ," Mateo grins. "Rumors say that she's been secretly seeing Parker Ellis— another director to add to your list?"

It's truly a testament of how much time has passed since your breakup with Baz and your budding friendship with Mateo that his little joke did nothing to actually offend you. If anything, it just makes you gasp at his audacity. "Oh, fuck you."

You and Penny laugh as you toss a napkin at his head. "Okay, but it's safe to say that you got a type, right?" Mateo nudges, casually taking the drink that Penny gives him while she takes his.

You frown slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Dude. You date older men. Baz was your longest and now Jack. That's a type. And it's not like you only attract older men, I've heard you reject Dennis Whitaker and Frank Langdon even before you met Jack. Ergo— a type.."

"It is not—" You pause, recall back all your exes and once realization settles in, you don't finish your sentence and opt to sip at your coffee instead with a glance to the street. Mateo still waits patiently for your reply, a mischievous smile growing on his lips. "I hate you."

"Nah, you don't."

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

With your EP packaged and ready for the higher-ups to finally complete the little details of release days and promotional schedules, your own personal schedule finally has pockets of free time that you readily fill up with lunch dates with friends and dinners with Jack (and now occasionally Robby).

But with your sudden insurgence of appearances, so did the paparazzi. They've learned their lessons last time they had swarmed you but even with the few feet of space they allow, the calls of your name and the flashing lights is enough to kickstart the panic in your heart.

"Come on, Star, give us a smile!"

"This way, sweetheart!"

"Just one look over here, girly!"

It takes all your media training to keep your face neutral and unbothered, grateful for the sunglasses that never leave your purse as it shields you from the blinding camera lights. Trinity, however, has no qualms in shouting their vitriol back at them, fully protected by her status as an A-Lister. Dennis takes your left side, a hand on your lower back while Trinity's got her arm hooked around your right elbow. They flank you, pressing together as the two of you make it into Poppy lA, a nightclub that Dove had been begging you to drop by.

The bouncer at the door steps away from his perch to wrangle the paparazzi out of the way, allowing the three of you inside past the red velvet ropes.

"I can't believe you roped me into this," Dennis mutters, looking very much like his cute humble roots as a farm boy before his songs catapulted him to the front of every tween fantasy. You chuckle, wriggle out of your coat to hand over to the attendant, before slightly hunching over to tug at the sinfully short hemline. "I think I wanna tap out at midnight."

Your smile is genuine, reaching up to ruffle Dennis' curls. "Dennis, my love, it's 11:32 PM… you wanna leave in twenty eight minutes?"

"Earlier would be better."

Trinity groans and hooks her arms with yours and Dennis, tugging you further inside. "Come on, it's been forever since we got to just dance and let loose! Don't ruin my vibes, Huckleberry."

"How about 1 am?" You barter and despite the grimace on your friend's face, he gives in just as Trinity brings the both of you to the table Dove's occupying with a bunch of other big names in the industry. A handful of greetings and cheek-kisses are swapped before a round of shots are delivered into everyone's hands.

The room whirls around you, reaching that edge of tipsiness where everything is hilarious and every song that blares is a hit. Somehow you find yourself on the dance floor with Trinity behind you and Dennis in front, grinding to the beat before the three of you burst into laughter. Your heart seems to beat in time with the bass, rocking the walls and floors beneath you. Suddenly, the room tilts floor tips under you and it takes a second to right yourself with Dennis' help.

His warm hands cup your elbows, gliding up to your upper arms. Your own hands settle on his chest as Trinity hugs you from behind, catching a whiff of her perfume when she hides her face into the side of your neck. Muffled giggles tickle your skin and Dennis ends up hauling the both of you off the dance floor.

"Let's get some air," he chuckles but Trinity breaks away first, pulled into Dove's orbit as usual as she settles onto the girl's lap. When you make no movement, Dennis nudges your side. "I think you and I should call it."

The addictive spinning room is giving way to nausea and it takes all you can from throwing up on Dennis' shoes to nod. "God, yes— please."

Dennis frowns, his hand on your cheek before he's looking around urgently. You're about to ask what's wrong but your chest heaves, your upper body nearly lurching over before he's got an empty glass pressed against your heated cheek. The nausea is momentarily abated enough for him to bring you to the closest bathroom. Fortunately for the both of you, it's single use and gloriously line-free — you nearly trip over your heels to get to the toilet before you're emptying your entire stomach content.

"I'm sorry—" you mumble before you're throwing your head back over the rim. Warm, calloused hands gather your hair, quiet hums of support given without a drop of judgment. Once the nausea's passed and your stomach is empty, you sit back with a pathetic groan. "That was disgusting."

Dennis laughs quietly, moves your hair out of the way before he settles on the floor on the opposite side. "Don't worry about it… s'like unlocking a new level of friendship."

You chuckle, sitting with your legs folded beneath you. The music's bass thumps beyond the door, a pleasant reprieve to keep away the budding headache growing at the base of your skull. "That's one way of looking at it. Let me take you out for lunch someday, though — you literally held my hair up as I puked."

"Sure. Can't say no to free food."

A beat passes and Dennis rises first, offers his hand to you which you take. His grip is steady when you carefully get onto your feet, a feat on its own considering how high and unstable your stilettos are. The world is no longer spinning but you hug Dennis' bicep anyway as he leads you out. You draw in a few curious looks but neither of you pay them any attention; you're determined to make it out the door without faceplanting in front of a horde of influencers.

This time around, there aren't many paparazzi waiting outside the door but in your rush to get out, you realize you left your coat inside. Dennis remembers the same time you do and he squeezes your waist to gain your attention as he stops at the top of the steps.

"Let me get your coat," he says, pats your hip and gives a nod to the bouncer who nods back; you won't be bothered by anyone while he's inside fetching your things.

Your hands rub at your bare arms, goosebumps arising. "You've got a good friend," the bouncer tells you, his voice gruff and no-nonsense but his eyes hold a warmth that you didn't qutie expect. A tentative smile grows upon your lips just as the door swings open once more. Dennis has his own jacket on but he's got your coat hung on his forearm. "Have a good night, you two."

Your smile blooms into something more genuine as Dennis helps you in your coat, realizing that there isn't anything suggestive clinging beneath the bouncer's words. Not a statement to add onto the reputatation that's evolving without your permission but an observation after a genuine interaction. It's a welcomed reprieve.

You give the bouncer a little wave just as your phone starts to ring and you eagerly answer, recognizing the assigned ringtone. "Jack—" you gasp as the line connects, bursting into excited giggles while Dennis stops guiding you along. "Hi!"

Jack chuckles on the other end and it's honey smooth, warm and raspy that you can feel yourself melt if it isn't for Dennis's arm around your waist. "Hi, pretty girl. Trinity texted me, told me you were ready to go home. Where's your phone, hm?"

You giggle again. "It's in my hand, baby!" Dennis chuckles quietly beside you; while you aren't tripping your feet, you're still the furthest thing from sober.

Across the city, that ugly monster in his gut rears its head when Jack hears a male voice laugh beside you. His jaw clicks but he keeps his voice casual for you. "I know it is, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Stay put, I'll come pick you up."

"Mkaaay," you slur and despite the growing jealousy that's blistering in his heart, Jack's hopelessly endeared by you. He's hearing you babble about nothing and everything and sure, half your sentences are unintelligible but he hums and nods anyways, grabbing his keys to drive out to wherever you are. He'll always come whenever you call.

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Dennis keeps you from stumbling off the curb when Jack's G-Wagon pulls up, the bright headlights nearly blinding you. When the lights shut off, Jack circles and something dark passes across his gaze but it leaves as fast as it had arrived.

"Jack!" You giggle excitedly, leaning away from Dennis' arms to fall right into your lover's waiting embrace. His smile is gentle when his arms wind around your waist, chuckling when you press messy kisses along his scruffy jaw. "You're here!"

"Hi, silly girl," he greets with a tender kiss to your cheek. "Ready to head home?"

You give a nod, your arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders while your fingers card through his silver curls with a dreamy sigh. "Mhm… thanks Dennis—" You remember to say with a wave of your hand behind you, barely catching the amused chuckle from your friend while Jack's eyes harden when you see him looking over his shoulder. A pout settles on your lips and the hand that had been tangled in his hair comes down to hold his chin, pulling his gaze down back to you. "Why so grumpy, Jackie?"

"Jackie?" He repeats with an amused yet incredulous laugh, his bad mood shedding when he gets the full impact of your adorable pout. "That's a new one… no, baby, I'm not grumpy. Come on, let's get you home."

He hauls you into the front seat, pressing kisses all over your cheeks and lips to get you to sit still long enough for him to buckle you in. He lets you hug his arm as he drives, the little green monster in his chest purring satisfactorily each time your nail runs up and down his bicep. When he doesn't feel your hands move, he steals a glance during a red light and his heart bleeds at the sight of you: fast asleep with the pendant still sewn into his sleeve pressed gently between your index finger and thumb.

"Sweetheart?" Jack murmurs a few minutes later, the car parked and the front porch lights on to light the way inside his home. He'd managed to get you in his bedroom, gently placed on the ottoman at the foot of his bed. "I'm gonna need you to stay up for me a bit longer, hm? You'll fall right off your seat."

You pout up at him but he makes sure you're no longer listing to the right before he stands to get the makeup wipes from his bathroom. He knows you have a whole routine but he'd rather not accidentally waterboard you. When he returns, he sits beside you and gently holds your face where he starts to wipe away the foundation and blush.

"Eyes closed for me, pretty girl," he murmurs and when you do as he says, you're rewarded with a chaste kiss on your lips. Then you feel the slightest pressure along your eyelids, his touch still so heartbreakingly gentle. When the most of your makeup is finally off, getting you changed is a routine he can do in his sleep. Soon enough, he's got you out of that little dress and into one of his shirts, curled up in his arms. By the time he's got the covers pulled up, you're out like a light.

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Even with Jack's gentle kisses drawing you out of sleep, it doesn't soothe the absolute riot beneath your skull as the sun's rays pierce through your orbital lobe. You groan and roll over to shove your face into his bare chest, trying to escape the hangover that's already settled deep in your every being.

"Ow," you whine when he leans over you, stretching across to grab something from the side of the bed and inadvertently pressing you into the mattress. When he leans back, he kisses your forehead and hairline.

"Painkillers and water," he says, offering the two little pills and water bottle which you gratefully accept.

"Thank you," you sigh with a soft smile but there's something in Jack's eyes that unsettles you, something he's holding back. A loose thread that you want to keep on tugging. "Jack? What is it?"

His mouth parts and you huff.

"Don't lie. Please don't do that thing where you pretend nothing is wrong," you say quietly. "I don't want to be that person where we— that we wait for things to blow over without talking things through."

"Sweetheart, what are you talking about?"

Something in your eyes shutter, your lips pressing in a firm line, and that fear sparks in his chest— he doesn't know what to do if you'd ever start pulling away.

"I didn't know Dennis was joining your night out."

You swallow back a sharp retort, eyes widening for a moment. "I didn't think it was an issue," you say as carefully as you could. "Dennis is a friend, Jack."

He shifts slightly as you sit up, hates the space that grows when you lean back against his headboard. Instead, he lets his gaze take you in, memorize the way his shirt hangs perfectly off your frame. "You're right," he concedes, shakes his head as though it could shake the frustration that's been building.

It's not that he doesn't want to talk to you; he loves talking to you! Rooftop pizza dates, midnight chats in the kitchen when sleep evades the both of you … he just doesn't know what to say this time around. It's a growing clump of something, building and growing like a cyst behind his heart that eludes any kind of description that could probably justify what he's feeling whenever you're around men your age.

But he sees the disappointment that clings to your smile as you swallow down another lie from him. "Jack, I only ever want you," you promise and when your arms open, he falls into them.

He'll swallow your lies, too.

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"Baby?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?" He leans his head back off the couch to peek towards the kitchen where you're divesting his freezer of ice cream and whatever you're currently craving. He hears the faucet run, ceramic hitting the bottom of the sink, and he cranes his head to find you in the kitchen. You pad around the island counter to get to his line of sight and what he sees fights back the little monster in his chest.

Bare legs, a peek of the lacy pink undies he'd bought for you in New York after he'd torn your last pair from his own impatience, and the cropped band tee that you might've stolen from his closet. But what does it for him is your face undone, hair pulled back as you've got little gummy patches under your eyes and star stickers dotting your cheeks.

You look completely at home.

"Nicole and Matt's wedding invites came in last week," you announce as you bend over slightly, rewarding him with a perfect view of your ass which he shamelessly gropes, to dig into your purse you've discarded on the opposite couch a few hours ago upon arrival. Once you've found it, you join him on the couch, legs folded beneath as Jack's arm loosely falls around your shoulders.

"Nicole… she's the one with the lawyer fiance, right?" Jack asks as he looks upon the thick cardstock of Nicole and Matt's name written in loopy script above the braille beneath each line. "The one you flew out for Coachella?"

You nod as you gently fan the invite, sighing contentedly at the sweet scent that wafts from the card. "She's giving me a plus one."

A stupidly wide grin curls on Jack's lips. "You askin' me out, sweetheart?"

Your eyes roll as you try to get up, squealing when Jack's arms wind around your waist to pull you back into his lap. You squirm and jostle but your lover's arms are cords of steel when he keeps you on top of him. "Jack—! Okay, okay, yes!" Your giggles fill the room and his heart pounds, hiding his smile against your neck.

"Then, yes. I'll gladly be your plus one for your friend's wedding."

Jack chuckles at your resounding squeal, watches you flit off his lap to call up your friend. It leaves him feeling sticky sweet, forgetting the tension that has been hanging over the both of you recently.

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Your head hangs off the edge of the chair, legs propped up on Trinity's vanity as the woman in question sits in the eye of a storm — the storm being heaps of clothing dragged out of her closet as she attempts to finish packing. You had come by to help but you've gotten distracted, watching reruns of a sitcom the two of you are obsessed with.

"Have you ever made it official? You and Jack?"

You pointedly ignore her question as you help yourself to her snacks while she tries to fold but the silence is deafening and it results to a pillow thrown right at your head. "Jesus Christ, how long has it been now? A year?"

"I wasn't counting—"

Especially not after adding Robby to the mix.

"You're fucking Robby, too?!"

Your groan is swallowed up by the pillow you shove your face into, hoping it could deflect the waves of judgment rolling off your best friend. You can feel her eyes on you, searching for any semblance of common sense from you but you've long accepted that none can be found when it comes to Jack Abbot.

"I don't think it matters anymore. Things have been weird between us. Tense. I wouldn't be surprised if things just crash and burn."

Trinity winces. "I think you've been hanging out with me too often, you're too cynical." She stops folding, abandons her three open suitcases in favor of crossing the room to kneel by the chair you're lounging on. "Come on, talk to me. You've been too preoccupied with old man dick to keep me updated."

"Gross," you gag dramatically but your hands find your best friend's hair anyways, soothing yourself to play with her soft tresses as you try to find the words. "Things were fine even after Robby joined in, you know. We even have a routine, all three of us— they're both so protective."

"Well, there's your answer," Trinity hums. "They're both jealous men."

"What?" You laugh incredulously.

"Think about it. Those two already come as a set—they won't be jealous with each other. But any other guy? All bets are off."

You're just about to refute Trinity but it fits too easily, jigsaw puzzle pieces slotting into place. Jack didn't flinch when Robby had bought you that bracelet nor did he start to pull away when Robby had kissed you solo. But Jack did get territorial when Mateo was casted as your love interest for your music video, started getting distant when Dennis joined the friend group.

He even fucked you a bit harder when you had made it onto Page Six with both Dennis and Mateo flanking you.

"It doesn't matter," you say eventually, removing your hands from Trinity's hair. "He's never asked to make things exclusive. He doesn't get to dictate who I hang out with if he can't even bring himself to call me his. Officially."

It had been something the two of you made very clearly during that first night, right before you had fallen asleep in his bed but right after he had fucked you into the mattress. While you were both in agreement that this was supposed to be a casual affair, any changes have to be said outright, whether it's ending things officially or wanting anything more.

You don't get to be taken for granted, never wanting to be the girlfriend of a man under assumption.

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Frustration begins to build into something nastier but it's something a few steps removed from you, just more annoyances and grievances from past flings that are rising from the past just out of similarity. Jealousy has been an ugly habit of Jack's, something he nipped in the bud immediately with Iris. A whirlwind romance is what the public saw, a desperate fix to cling to whoever deigned to stay longer than a month is the truth. He'd been lucky enough that Iris had been just as insane as he was, hopelessly in love and eager to be claimed.

The flings that follow only ever stayed as flings, back when he kept his heart on the top shelf for the night as strange women would keep his bed warm. They liked the fame that came with spending the night with Jack, the possessiveness that bloomed and expired once they left right after.

But you've been staying longer than a night and that same jealousy — possessiveness — has nowhere to go but cultivate. The easy fix is there, the same solution that had won him the love of his life a decade ago, but the stakes seem higher with you. He doesn't know if his final push to claim you would result in the same with Iris or if he'll lose you forever. You're a younger woman, what the hell would you want to do settling down with a man as old as him?

So that's where every night takes him, every night that he doesn't spend with you, writing in a notebook to finish a song he's begun since losing Iris. Then the song is born, carefully put together by producers and other in-house musicians that are too professional to let themselves dwell on the lyrics that they aren't allowed to change.

Soon the song is ready, Jack avoiding Robby's gaze when they wrap up recording. Once they get the OK from the company, it'd be ready to be released soon.

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

NIGHTCRAWLER @.NIGHTCRAWLER — 1m New single: 'TEETH' out now, streaming everywhere.

Todd @.ncbuddies — 1m I think this was a demo from after that huge blowout between Jack and Iris, glad to finally see it out

JACKSTAR ENTHUSIAST @.jackstarsbitch — 1m oh god THIS RIFF???

STAR'S BABY @.starluvbot — 1m these lyrics,,,,,, i mean both jack and robby are credited but the Wife Line,,,,,,

PINK LIMOS OUT SOON @.bbystars — 1m all men do is disappoint and never get over their ex

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The world falls beneath your feet, a mutinous storm churning as the waves tug at your ankles and wrists to try and pull you under. The four walls of your bedroom disappear and the sheets tangled around your limbs are suffocating. You can't breathe.

It almost feels like a mistake refusing Trinity's offer to sleepover. Although it was only earlier that afternoon that you had been attempting to help her pack, it feels like days since then as you listen to the surprise drop of NIGHTCRAWLER's single. You shouldn't be so shocked; Fridays are the usual for new music. You just didn't expect the lyrics to feel like a stab to the gut.

With your chest heaving, you sit up in the middle of your bed and kick away your duvet. Your eyes are glimmering with angry, unshed tears when you catch a glimpse of your reflection upon your laptop screen before it wakes up.

You jam in the new title of the song on Genius lyrics, hit play on your phone. The bass kicks in, empty vocals following.

Robby sings the first verse and you shut your eyes. "Sometimes you're a stranger in my bed, don't know if you love me or you want me dead." The knot in your chest eases; Robby's infamous seven week itch would obviously culminate in a song like this. "Every little lie gives me butterflies," he sings and you manage a half smile.

The chorus comes and goes, a heavy-hitting punch delivered straight to your chest. But then Jack's voice kicks in and you hate the way your heart flutters. "Some days, you're the best thing in my life. Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife."

Your eyes fly open and that knot in your chest feels like a stone, sinking deeper and deeper. It tears through your windpipe, angrily batting away the tears that threaten to spill. When the lyrics confirm the bullshit you're reading, you throw on the closest jacket your fingers touch, shove your feet into a pair of uggs and grab your keys and wallet.

It's nearly midnight but you swerve between the traffic of Los Angeles to get to Jack's neighborhood. You punch the clicker attached to your visor, the gate swinging open for you to pull through. The cold bites at your bare legs; you might've tossed a jacket over your threadbare sleep shirt but your baby pink cotton shorts do nothing against the chill.

"Jack—" you call, knocking at the heavy door. He answers with an easy smile and you can feel the way your heart splinters, willing to let it all go and fall into something safe— but that splintered piece lodges deep in your lungs and a shaky breath snaps you to attention, to the hurt that's been growing like a bruise between your ribs. "We need to talk."

"Sweetheart? I thought you were sleeping early—" he frowns but steps aside to let you in. "It's fuckin' cold outside, why didn't you call me and let me know that you were coming?"

"Your song," you whisper as you step further in. His alarm bells are ringing in his head when you maintain the distance between you and him, stumbling back when he takes a step forward. "Teeth. Did you mean it?"

His frown deepens, the panic clawing to escape the cell he's got it trapped in with that jealous little monster inside his chest. "Baby, what are you talking about—"

"The song, Jack! The fuckin'—" Your voice breaks and the sharp breath you take in, jagged and raw has him trying to step closer but you lift a hand to stop his progress. A wet laugh escapes you. "The lyric. About your wife. Did you fuckin' mean it?"

"Those lyrics… they're old—"

"Jack, please," you beg. "You said that when you see me, sometimes you see your wife. Don't insult me further by saying that that isn't about me and Iris— because I'm not an idiot. I'm— I know I'm younger than the women you date a-and I can't even begin to comprehend what it's like to be a spouse but I think I deserve better than to live in the shadow of your late wife."

Despite the solidity of your statement, Jack sees the way your shoulders tremble, the tense posture you maintain. A paradox of control in your speech but an unraveling in your body language, like a cornered animal trying to maintain its position. "That's not—" He pauses when you let out an indignant noise of disbelief. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"That's bullshit." Your arms raise to hug yourself, a protective barrier against Jack. "I— You can't be that obtuse, Jack. You can't claim ignorance for something as obvious as— as…"

"As what?" And you hate the way how patient he is despite this, how tender and delicate the words roll off his tongue.

"God—!" You exclaim with a frustrated noise, a humorless smile on your face as you meet his eyes. "That I'm in love with you! That I fell so—" Another shaky breath punctures your sentence. "—so in love… fuck, there's no way you didn't know, Jack. You can't be this fucking blind to it, can't be this cruel to write that line as if I'm just a replacement for Iris. Is that what I am to you? Because I don't even know where I stand in your life—"

He interrupts as he surges forward, desperation clinging to his every word. "I want you, you know I do—!"

"But do you love me?"

The room goes horribly still and the silence yawns like a cavernous chasm between you two. You two are nearly chest to chest but the warmth that usually follows with close proximity is bone-chilling now. "I—"

You take pity and the smile you give him is heartbreakingly sad. An amalgamation of heartache and understanding. "Maybe it's best we take some time apart… I think this has been a long thing coming."

"Wait, angel—" His arm reaches out to grasp your wrist as you move for the door. His touch burns but you don't shake him off. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"Can't break something that was never whole, Jack."

While he's stunned, you take the chance to leave but the tears roll down quickly, obstructing your view as you make your way towards his driveway to your waiting car. At this point, the world blurs away into nothing; it feels like you've sunk to the bottom of the ocean, Jack's pleas unheard on you like he's above water. You enter the car and begin to pull away.

"… can't drive like this—"

But you give him one last tearful look before you pull out of his driveway and down the street. You can only make it a block until your unshed tears start to blur your vision so you pull over in front of someone's house, kill the headlights and engine, before you drop your walls and sob into the steering wheel.

It's raw and ugly, snot dribbling past your upper lip as you let it all out; all the frustration and grievances of Jack's inability to communicate, dragging you on to a place he can't name. Your chest is heaving and your eyes are swollen when you finally feel the vestiges of your heartache abate for the time being, catching the time displayed on your dashboard.

1:02 AM.

Guilt tugs at your heartstrings but Trinity's line rings twice before she finally answers. "Trin?" you whisper. Rustling sounds echo through the line, another woman's voice unintelligible in the background.

"Hey— what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I… I need a ride. I can't drive home like this." Your voice is nasally, cracked and raw. You're in no state to explain why you need a ride but Trinity is already sending her ETA, promising that she and Dove are on their way.

Dove's deep red vintage Mercedes Benz rolls up beside your car and the two women are quick to help you into the back seat. While Trinity grabs your main things from your car, she locks it up and shoots a text to Cassie that you'll need a tow truck to pick up your vehicle the following day.

When you don't offer any explanation, both women follow your lead and keep silent. They take you straight to Trinity's place, tucking you between them both with a quiet hug of support. You fall asleep just like that, surrounded by your closest friends.

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

"You wanna talk about it?"

You don't look up from Trinity's laptop where you're browsing through flights to New York on her couch the next morning. "Nothing much to say, Trin. He wouldn't talk to me. Not in the way it matters. So I broke things off."

"So you're running away to New York?"

"I'm not running away, I'm going to Nicole's wedding."

"That's a week away from now!" Trinity huffs as she leans against the back of the couch, hovering above where you're perusing flights. "Come on— when have you been the one to run away from your problems?"

You tilt your head up, give your best friend a stupid grin. "Looks like you've been rubbing off on me, Santos." Her eyes roll and she shoves the laptop shut. "Hey—!"

"Just fly with me," she sighs, thumbs flying across her screen as she contacts her own manager. "I'm heading out for the press junket in New York anyway… besides, I'd rather not leave you alone anytime soon."

"I'm not fragile!"

Dove passes by, drops a kiss to the top of your hair. "You kinda are, babes."

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

The six and a half hour trip to New York had been spent watching every movie you can find on the available services, promptly annoying Trinity to shove an eyemask over her head to try and nap. Sleeping is out of the question, it'll leave you alone with your thoughts until you're stuck mourning a relationship that never quite existed and you're absolutely done with crying.

Nicole had been all too eager to welcome you when you called her while boarding in LAX, asking if it'd be alright with her and Matt if you fly in earlier than expected. When you finally landed that Sunday evening, Trinity's drivers had dropped you off at Nicole and Matt's brownstone in Brooklyn, tucked in an affluent neighborhood.

Matt must make bank as a lawyer, you think to yourself as you exit the car, thanking the driver with a smile when he brings out your meager luggage. You didn't take long to pack when Trinity had taken you home before the flight, just grabbed the essentials before leaving in case Jack had the idea of coming by after your fight. Anything else you needed, you could just buy and the idea of retail therapy is a lot more appealing than crying your troubles out in a tub of ice cream.

Just as you make it to the first step, the door flies open and Nicole rushes down so quickly to hug you that you had thought she might've fallen. "You're here—!" She squeals, peppering your cheeks with chaste kisses before she tugs you inside. "Come in, come in. We cleared up the spare guest room just for you. Matt's at the office but he'll be home in a couple of hours for dinner, and— hey, is everything okay?"

The sudden switch gives you whiplash and your eyes fly up to your friend's gentle concern; despite the years that's passed, she still knows you better than you do, a superpower of being childhood friends, you suppose. "Yeah—! Just… stress from work, you know? I needed a break so I figured I could fly in early, get my Nicki time before anyone else arrived!"

Her smile returns reluctantly but you pull her in for a tight hug, hiding your own heartbreak. You push aside your own issues for now, shelving them to the backburner. The last thing you want is your feelings to poison what's meant to be the happiest moment of your childhood best friend's life.

"Okay…" she says hesitantly but your smile must come off as genuine when she pulls back enough to meet your eyes because her spark returns and she's back to tugging you further into her home. You listen in as she rambles excitedly for the week she has planned out. "So, Saturday—! That's the big day, obviously. The bridal party is arriving Wednesday and we're all staying at the Bryant Park Hotel up until the ceremony and reception. We reserved the top two floors for all our needs. You get to stay in the largest suite right beside Jacqueline—"

She continues to line out the festivities as she helps you unpack and settle in the guest room— spa day for the bridesmaids on Wednesday, final fittings on Thursday, and rehearsal along with the rehearsal dinner on Friday.

Busy enough to keep yourself from thinking about Jack.

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

You throw yourself in the last minute details of wedding planning with Nicole during the two days you stay at their home, tying up any loose ends. In the evenings, you pour over old photos and yearbooks with her, regaling Matt with your childhood spent together.

You try not to stare whenever Matt kisses her, how he never seems to hold back in telling her how much he loves her.

By the time the rest of the bridal party arrives, you're lugging in a larger suitcase— a result of shopping with Nicole the day before to pack up on outfits you may need for the rest of the trip. You greet the rest of the bridesmaids, recognizing some of Nicole's sorority sisters from college and blushing when they compliment your music.

But you get the largest hug from Jacqueline, your other childhood best friend and Nicole's maid of honor. The three of you had been a trio of trouble growing up and Nicole had nearly thrown a bridezilla fit when the wedding planner had casually mentioned that 'two maid of honors aren't traditional'. You were quick to bow out despite your regretful pout during her engagement party about a year and a half ago, reminding her that your career isn't the most consistent to help her plan the wedding. Jacqueline had been all too eager to step up but always included you in the conversation whenever you had the chance to get on your phone.

"It's been forever—!" Jacqueline wails dramatically as she hugs you as tight as Nicole did. You match her dramatics perfectly, whining and huffing as you two waddle and sway around the lobby while latching onto each other. "I'm so so sorry I couldn't come to Coachella! Nicki said you did amazing!"

You laugh softly and gently pull away, beaming under the attention of your closest friends. The ache in your heart feels less jagged, less raw when you're surrounded by this much love. "As long as you come to my tour, all's forgiven!"

"You're going on tour—?!"

"Shush—" you laugh as you link arms with her, following the parade of women and men to the ornate elevators. "It's not something I told the company I wanted yet…"

The two of you catch up, listening in on what's new with her life. While she's able to do so from how often TMZ reports on you, you drink up every detail she gives you as her new life as a married woman.

"With how amazing your honeymoon sounded," you giggle while you two stretch out on the balcony chaise, swaddled in fluffy white bathrobes, "I completely forgive you for missing my Coachella performance."

She laughs and somehow, the conversation is derailed for the nth time that Wednesday afternoon. Your heart is full and for a moment, a sweet blissful hour, you've forgotten the pieces Jack had left your heart in.

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆

Your skin feels soft and clean, your body renewed after the almost-intensive session with the spa day that Nicole had planned a few hours before the dinner Jacqueline insisted on for just the three of you. The other bridesmaids took no offense to it, opting to explore the nightlife New York City offers.

The three of you end up in your room after you've begun to get too close to tipsy at the restaurant — the last thing you need is to get messy drunk. It feels like high school when you shower and freshen up, changing into the matching silk pajama sets that Nicole had monogrammed with your names as a gift for her bridal party.

"Alright." Jacqueline says quietly, calling for your attention as Nicole wanders out to the balcony of your room to answer Matt's call. "You may have fooled her but not me. What's going on?"

It takes everything in you not to fall apart under your best friend's sharp gaze, protective and fierce as her hand finds yours. Your smile barely falters but the anguish in your eyes is unmistakable. "I ended things with Jack. It's why I flew in so early," you whisper. "I didn't want to tell Nicole— I don't want to ruin her wedding."

"Oh, sweetie—" Jacqueline tuts but there's nothing but empathy written across her features, pulling you in for a tight hug and a gentle rub of your back. "After the wedding, stay with John and I. Gosh, I can't even imagine a breakup, let alone being in the public eye."

You nod, grateful that she understands your hesitance on being seen back in Los Angeles so soon. "I'll catch you up on everything, I promise. Just… after the wedding, okay?"

"Of course, of course."

Despite Nicole having her own room with Matt ("traditions can go fuck themselves, I'm sharing the bed with my future husband—") and Jacqueline settled in with John in the room beside yours, the two of them have made themselves comfortable on your massive bed— sprawled out on their stomachs, flipping through bridal magazines with little under-eye masks on as if the three of you are back in high school.

A knock interrupts your conversation but you roll off the bed, figuring it may be another bridesmaid wanting to join in on the impromptu sleepover. "If it's Grace, tell her to bring back my hair-curler—" Nicole shouts and you give her a nod, pulling the door open.

"Gracie, Nicole wants her— Robby?"

Two heads pop up at the name, eyes widening to look over your shoulder to see Michael "Robby" Robinavitch standing at your hotel door.

whew okay thank you for reading! i know it's a cruel spot to end but i promise to have part 5 asap! comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are highly appreciated!